


Surrender

by ladydragon76



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Genre: PWP, KINK: BDSM, KINK: D/s, KINK: bondage, M/M, Rating: NC-17 - Freeform, character: megatron, character: ratchet, smut: sparks, smut: sticky, verse: idw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragon76/pseuds/ladydragon76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Real trust is such a difficult thing to come by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

**Author's Note:**

> **‘Verse:** IDW - MTMTE  
>  **Series:** None  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Characters:** Ratchet/Megatron  
>  **Warnings:** Sticky, Sparks, BDSM, Touch of Blood Play  
> 

Megatron knelt in the middle of the floor of Ratchet’s personal quarters. His _real_ room, not the closet he usually recharged in off the side of the medbay. The medic paced slowly around Megatron, eyeing him and the thick band of metal the former tyrant held up in offering. After another deliberate circuit, Ratchet lifted the collar and unlocked it.

With a calm he didn’t feel, Megatron lowered his hands to his knees and lifted his chin. Ratchet smirked at him as he fitted and relocked the collar around his neck.

“Alright, my pet. Tell me your word.”

“Stop,” Megatron dutifully replied. As safe words went, it was fairly unimaginative, but he wasn’t interested in playing word games. That was part of Ratchet’s half of the game if he chose to employ it.

Ratchet’s hand gave his face a mocking stroke. “So obedient,” he crooned. “Now promise you will use it if you become uncomfortable with anything I do.”

“I promise,” Megatron said.

A red hand caressed his helm, then Ratchet stepped away and sat on one of the two densely padded chairs in the room. Rank afforded nice things to Chief Medical Officers, and the medic sank into the comfortable cushioning before slouching and spreading his knees. “Come on,” he ordered, crooking a finger at Megatron. “And remember to crawl, pet.”

Crawl Megatron did while his spark pulsed hard in its crystal. Something like annoyance chewed at the back of his mind, but he had agreed to this. He had _asked_ for this once he learned of Ratchet’s… proclivities. His pride had no call to be annoyed, though that was thankfully buried under sharp arousal and heavy anticipation. They had discussed it all, and he knew what was coming. He could stop this any time he wanted with a single word, and he _knew_ Ratchet would stop. The collar would be taken off, and Megatron would be able to walk out of the room unharmed.

A low growl rumbled up from deep in his chest as he dipped his shoulders between Ratchet’s knees, then pushed up so his lower legs rested down along Megatron’s back. Trust. It was the trust that made this so hot already. Something that had too seldom been a part of Megatron’s life. It made it easy to lower his face and lick a line over a panel that had already begun to heat. The medic was not as unaffected as he looked. Sure his arms rested loosely on the armrests, but his fingers curled in enough to cause depressions in the padding. Aquamarine optics shaded a touch darker than usual as well.

Megatron turned his full attention to the panel under his mouth. He licked and sucked, and even scraped his teeth over it until it finally retracted. Ratchet’s spike pushed out, surprising in just how decorated it was. Thin lines of white and red LED inlays twisted in an intricate pattern all the way to the tip. Etching decorated the silver of the spike and the softer metal of his array. Megatron had to fight back the amusement. So, the medic was vain enough to pretty up his bits? Primus, there was even a spiral that spun inward, and tracing it with a fingertip took Megatron right to the slick rim of Ratchet’s valve.

“Are you stalling, pet?” Ratchet asked.

Megatron glanced up. “Admiring.”

Ratchet arched an optic ridge. “Admire with your mouth.”

Megatron chuckled before he could stop himself and was dealt a startlingly ringing smack to the side of his helm. He blinked up at Ratchet, disbelief jangling throughout his field. He expected some rough handling, but hadn’t thought an honest laugh would be what earned it.

For a moment Ratchet watched him, optics steady on Megatron’s. “Something to say for yourself, pet?”

Not trusting his vocalizer to function properly through a sudden rush of desire, Megatron shook his helm, then leaned back in to lick up the underside of Ratchet’s spike. The medic’s hand returned to the armrest, but his optics were even deeper hued than before. Megatron suppressed a shiver and forced himself not to squirm as he tilted his helm to the side and placed a row of slow, sucking kisses down the length of the spike. He watched Ratchet as he went back up, then shut his optics to take the spike into his mouth.

Ratchet hissed at the sudden suction, and a hand landed lightly on the back of Megatron’s helm. He rose up a little more, pushing the medic’s legs higher. One hand gripped a pale thigh while the other traced the fine whorls back to that valve rim. Ratchet moaned, hips flexing for more.

Not that many knew it, but Megatron truly enjoyed putting his mouth on a lover. The reactions were almost always worth it, and Ratchet was no exception. Composure? Hn. No more. With each stroke, the medic gripped the arm of the chair tighter, the other hand pushing Megatron into the rhythm. He maintained some consideration through his building charge, as he didn’t push too hard, but the mech was clearly enjoying himself. Megatron grinned around the spike, then took the medic as deep as he could while plunging two fingers into his valve.

Ratchet bucked and shouted, and hot transfluid spurted down Megatron’s intake. He drew back slowly as the medic slumped, adding a last lick to the tip and smirking at the shiver that racked the white and red frame. He wiggled his fingers as he pulled them out just to make Ratchet twitch.

“Nngh. Cute.” Ratchet dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward to catch Megatron’s hand. It was lifted, and without breaking optic contact, the medic sucked his own lubricant from both fingers before standing. Lust blanked Megatron’s mind for a moment, but the movement forced him to scoot back or risk being kicked. He turned on his knees to watch Ratchet cross to a storage cabinet.

“That was good, but I think you’re feeling a bit more smug than a pet should.” Ratchet turned back to him with a slim rope that certainly didn’t look strong enough to bind Megatron. He stepped toward the middle of the room and pointed at the floor. “Here.”

Megatron grinned and kept his optics on Ratchet as he _crawled_ over to kneel at the medic’s feet.

“Far too smug.” The coil of rope whapped lightly against Megatron’s shoulder, but this time he managed to bite back the laugh. “Arms behind your back,” Ratchet ordered, and Megatron obeyed. His arms were arranged one over the other, then the rope was wound around them. When he was done, Ratchet nudged Megatron’s aft. “Scoot forward.”

Megatron did so, and there was a small _clink_ from the floor behind him. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, then his arms were tugged downward, forcing his back to arch and chest to thrust forward to keep his balance.

Ratchet stood and circled around Megatron. “Now that’s pretty.” He crouched in front of Megatron and dragged a finger down the center of his chest plating. “Open.”

He thought he knew what Ratchet meant, but retracted his array cover instead. His spike pushed out, unadorned silver but impressive if he said so himself. The room’s cooler air chilled the lubricant that had slicked his valve rim, and the calipers gave a needy clench. Megatron held Ratchet’s gaze, face as blank as he could make it.

The medic dropped his optics to the bared array, then reached out and _flicked_ the tip of Megatron’s spike. Megatron gasped, body jolting. Surprisingly enough, the rope held, and he was left panting as something between pain and pleasure shocked over his sensornet.

“I will get out my shock stick if you can’t behave,” Ratchet threatened. He stroked the invisible seam of Megatron’s chest plating again. “Open.”

For just a moment Megatron considered disobeying, but he wasn’t in the mood for pain tonight. At least not as much as a shock stick would bring. He allowed his plating to divide and retract, then stared at Ratchet. The medic narrowed his optics then arched a ridge. Very well, Megatron thought and retracted the laser core armor, and then even the crystal.

“Clearly in need of some training,” Ratchet muttered as he reached into his subspace.

Megatron recognized the clamps, optics going round as they were applied, keeping his plating open, his spark exposed. Bright light pulsed faster over the white of Ratchet’s armor, and the medic reached out.

“Now this is a sight,” Ratchet purred. He knelt in front of Megatron, hands moving over the silver plating before delving in to brush gentle, ghosting touches over the sensitive internals. He smirked as Megatron shivered and cut off a low moan. “What was that, pet?” His fingers teased closer to Megatron’s spark. One rubbed down the open edge of the crystal. “Something to say to me?”

Megatron inhaled, trying to calm the rapid gasp of his respiration, and shook his helm. Lightning crackled through his lines with the faint chill of fear. It would be so easy for Ratchet to kill him. He probably wouldn’t even be reprimanded for it. Interfacing accident. He could say he misjudged, or that Megatron jerked unexpectedly.

Instead of death, bright pleasure assaulted Megatron’s senses. He drowned in the bliss as Ratchet grazed a touch to the outermost edge of his spark. Tendrils of light twisted and writhed up the medic’s hand and coiled around his wrist.

“Look at you,” Ratchet murmured, his optics locked on Megatron’s spark. “Pretty pet. Imagine if the Decepticons could see you now.” His gaze flicked up to Megatron’s with a smirk. “What would they think of you like this? All trussed up and open to me? Pits, what would the Autobots think? Big scary thing, aren’t you?” His fingers pushed deeper, then retreated to play with the thick conduit cables that fed energy into the spark. “Know what this is?” he asked.

He seemed to be actually waiting for an answer, so Megatron fought to get his vocalizer to cooperate. “Conduit,” he rasped.

“Yes,” Ratchet purred with a deeper smirk. “Know what’ll happen when I squeeze it? No, don’t answer. I’ll just show you.”

Megatron cried out as the conduit was pinched and compressed. Heat flashed through him, and a hard knot of pressure built under his spark. He couldn’t move, and that edge of fear was back and had intensified. His processors swam, then the pressure abruptly released and hot pleasure shot through his spark. He shouted again, writhing against the bonds. “More!”

“Tsk. Bad pet.”

Megatron flinched as his spike was flicked again. “Please!” He couldn’t bring himself to use titles, but Ratchet hadn’t suggested any before they began.

“Please what?” Ratchet purred right next to Megatron’s audial. His fingers brushed over the naked spark again, then pressed inward.

Megatron whimpered and couldn’t even begin to feel shame for the weak and needy sound. “Please more?” he asked. When he opened his optics, it was to see the ceiling above him. He arched back, helm hanging to expose his throat even more.

Ratchet’s free hand stroked under the edge of the collar, then dropped to wrap around Megatron’s waist and hold him in closer. “Hm... I think you can do better than that.”

Red fingers pressed in more, stirring through Megatron’s spark and wreaking havoc with his sensornet. He gasped and panted as the medic nibbled at his main energon line just above the collar. “Please, Ratchet. I’ll…” His vents hitched and caught, and fire flashed through him as teeth scraped his main line. “ _Please_!”

“How bad do you want this overload, pet?”

Megatron moaned and tried to will himself closer to release. He burned for it. Ached everywhere for the tingling, pulsing, _teasing_ lick of charge to trip that last little bit higher.

“That bad, huh?” Ratchet purred. “Primus frag me. If you could see yourself,” he whispered, mouthing at Megatron’s jawline. “You have no idea how beautiful your submission is. Even when it’s wordless. No,” he crooned and nipped Megatron’s neck. “ _Especially_ when it’s wordless. Begging in whimpers and gasps.”

Pressure built around Megatron’s spark again, and he cried out. Touches were indistinguishable from one to the next.

“Let go. I have you. Let go.” Then Ratchet’s teeth set over his main line again, and the bite was sharp enough to puncture it.

Molten rapture exploded inside of him, and Megatron heard his own screams echo back as the world spun out from under him. He was left reeling, gyros out of sync, and vents heaving for cooling air that just wasn’t cool enough.

“Megatron,” Ratchet purred against his neck. Soft licks soothed the sting from the bite. “Breathe. I have you.”

Megatron blinked up at the ceiling, though it took an optical reset before the static cleared. He felt each clamp as it was removed, then sagged as his plating closed and locked. The rope was released next, and Megatron pulled his arms forward as soon as he could.

“Easy,” Ratchet said. His hands went to Megatron’s shoulders to knead and soothe the aching cables. “Go slow.” The collar was touched next. “Ready for this to come off?”

Megatron tried to reply, but his vocalizer glitched and caught. He nodded instead, fists clenched against his thighs as the medic unlocked the collar and set it aside so he could rub Megatron’s neck. For a few minutes, they knelt there, Megatron’s forehelm on Ratchet’s shoulder and the medic’s hands massaging his neck.

“Are you hurting anywhere?” Ratchet asked.

Megatron shook his helm. “Shoulders are tight,” he answered, voice still rasping a bit. “But no pain or alerts.”

“Good,” the medic said and leaned back to look at Megatron with a searching gaze. Whatever he saw, he seemed satisfied because he then grinned. “You’re fragging hot.”

Megatron chuckled and rolled his shoulders, gaze catching on a stripe of silver shot over Ratchet’s red hip. He looked down at his own lap, but his spike had retracted and the cover closed at some point when he wasn’t paying attention.

“That’s pretty normal,” Ratchet said then rocked up to his feet. “Spark overloads can set everything off.” He held a hand down to Megatron. “Come on. Perk of the rank, I’ve got a private ‘rack in here. We can clean up, have some energon, then you can either rest here or head out. Whichever you prefer.”

Megatron nodded as he took the hand and levered himself up. “Shower first, then I’ll decide.” He certainly still felt vulnerable, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to indulge that or shove it away. After a shower was soon enough to decide, and Ratchet seemed fine with that as well. “Thank you,” Megatron said, and the medic cast a grin over his shoulder at him.

“Any time.”


End file.
